


My Life

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Beren told Lúthien, after the tenth time she asked him. [free-verse with ambiguous genre]</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**My Life  
(or)  
What Beren Told Lúthien (After the Tenth Time She Asked Him)**

“I do look like my mother,  
But I have my father’s hands.  
Sword hands, he called them,  
He looked at them every chance he got.  
He was a fighter, was Da,  
Smooth-sharp-shining sword,  
Even when he was  
Nowhere near tidy.  
A weapon is a grand thing, he’d say,  
And Mother she’d smile at him,  
But ne’er did she agree.

You have to face it though,  
We’re different.  
We’re naught but dust compared to you,  
Smaller, weaker, much less wise,  
But we have to grow faster,  
Fight sooner,  
Die sooner.”

He thinks about his father’s sword,  
And how it used to hang,  
A mirror to the left, another to the right,  
And ill-pleased his mother,  
Who, for all her courageous ways,  
Would rather she were left  
Alone, and in peace.

“Whenever she could,

Ma filled a bowl with apples,  
And let it stand by the side of a shelf.  
I’m crazy about apples,  
And next to it she had a jar of wildflowers,  
Thin, delicate, quick-dieing,  
Ma was crazy about them.”

“I wasn’t too old when she left,  
All skinny, awkward, ‘bout to cry,  
She pulled me close, said:  
Stand hard, stout-hearted son,  
Be brave-bold-strong-wise,  
Your father will need you.

We discovered a lot  
Of things, just by living hard.  
Clothes burn really well, and so do  
Chairs,  
When you can’t go out to chop firewood ‘cause  
There’s an Orc horde in the way.

I wasn’t around when Da died,  
But I got back soon enough  
To get the Orcs that did it.

Maybe we’re just mortal,  
Maybe we’re different-weaker-smaller,  
But we protect your borders for you.  
Don’t we deserve a little respect?”

And what he likes best  
Is that she nods,  
And he knows she’s understood everything he’s said,  
And some things he didn’t say too.

FIN


End file.
